


The Bathtub

by baleinek



Category: Original Work
Genre: Addiction, Gen, Panic Attacks, Relationship Problems, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 08:04:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11100384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baleinek/pseuds/baleinek
Summary: Not everything that helped was good.But it worked.





	The Bathtub

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: contains graphic description of self-harming. Please do not follow in real life.

_Don’t come here anymore._  His voice rang loud and clear in her head.

_He didn’t mean it, did he? He couldn’t possibly mean it, right? But what if he did? What if he is just sick of me being around? I would be sick of me. Always there but never doing anything. I’m just there, existing, taking up space._

She held her head in her hands and couldn’t help but to claw her nails along her scalp. It was painful but somehow that always soothed her, or at least made the agony in her heart lessened, even if only a bit.

The bathroom was organised and clean, just the way she liked it. The bathtub she was sitting in was so sparkling clean that you would actually see sparkles. It had to considering the amount of time she spent in it. As weird as it was, she found refuge in it. When everything was too much, she would sit in it with her legs pulled against her chest so that she could let her head rested between her knees. Sometimes she would scratch her scalp, other times she would hug her legs and rocked herself back and forth; all in attempt to calm herself down. Sometimes it worked rather quickly, sometimes it took forever that she fell asleep and woke up with her limbs tangling each other awkwardly.

The memory of their fight was replaying in her head on repeat. She couldn’t block it out no matter what she did. All the cruel words spewed towards and against were etched in her brain like scorching hot metal on skin, leaving ugly profound scars on her soul. It was driving her crazy but not quite enough, not enough to tip her over into insanity. But she wanted it. She wished whatever that was holding her rationality together would just snap so that she could lose her mind. Because staying at the brink of madness is madness itself, far more brutal than falling into it. Having a sense of reasoning in this unreasonable world hurt more than you think it would.

Her head hurt, her heart aching and there was something unsettling at the back of her throat. Tears welled up and fell down her cheek readily. She could never cry out loud even if that ought to make her feel better. Everything was numb but overwhelming at the same time. There was nothing she could do but to sit still and let them – thought, memory, emotion – flooded her at once, choking her almost literally.

She didn’t know how long had time passed. It felt like days but could just be minutes in actuality. But she didn’t care. It was not like anyone else would too. She was alone and she had made sure of that. Her phone were turned off, her rented one room apartment was locked and curtain were drawn. The bathroom light was dim and there was nothing but silence. She found comfort in the solitude and closeness of the tight space in her tub.

Things seemed to have slowed down in her head. Maybe her body finally decided to do something so as to defend the sanity of her mind; or it could simply be because her mind had tired itself out for all the shits that were running in it. She wondered why had it came down to this. What had happened to what they once were and what had happened to her? She couldn’t find the answer. Or maybe there was no need for an answer. Because for the life of her, she had no fucking clue on how to make everything better. There was no way out. There was no light at the end of the tunnel. It was darkness all along as her loyal friend.

Maybe she could leave, she was better off by herself anyway. But she couldn’t. He had been the only constant in her life for God knows how long and she was not ready to go away from that. And she wouldn’t. As shitty as their relationship was, she still loved him, perhaps more than she was capable of. Maybe she could stay then. But staying hadn’t been doing any kindness towards them, towards her. They were fighting all the time, it was almost as if they found pleasure in hurting one another. They hate each other as much as they love each other because love create expectation, expectation brought disappointment, and disappointment led to hate. It was a vicious cycle; one that none of them could break off from.

_Maybe he is right. I shouldn’t go to him anymore. What good has ever come from us seeing each other? There are too much damage done and not nearly enough consolation to make up for it._

It hurt to think, it hurt to breathe, heck, it hurt to be alive. She had to do something about the pain. And that was when the shaving knife came into her sight. It was his and he had left it there just in case he stayed for the night. She had been secretly using it for other purpose though. When bruising her scalp or rocking herself like a lunatic didn’t work, she would turn to it for help. At first, she just wanted to try it once because the throbbing and paralysing pain was in her heart, her body, her everything. She figured what was better than actual physical pain. So she started to cut herself. She would choose somewhere no one could see and pulled the blade across her skin. It was terrifying, nonetheless the prospect of relieving herself of what she was feeling urged her to go on. Then once became twice, twice became thrice and then the next, and the next and the next until she stopped counting. It was an addiction. But it worked. It helped. So she couldn’t stop even though she knew it was bad. She tried to assert some self-control but as the number of times they fought increased, she found it harder and perhaps pointless to stop the act.

Angry scars were covering her inner thighs, the new one on top of the old. No one noticed them because well, they were hidden and she hadn’t been intimate with him for the scars to be seen. Make up sex didn’t work as contrary to popular belief. They were too pissed to even talk to each other, let alone be in the other’s personal space.

The knife seemed to be glinting under the bathroom light. It wouldn’t be crazy if she said it was calling out for her, would she?

_Fuck it, I’m as crazy as it comes._

She reached out for the object, like the umpteen time she had before and hold it in her hand. She was glad, maybe even excited to have it against her skin. The blade was cold and comforting. She dragged the knife across her inner thighs, not really cutting but enjoying the sensation of the metal on her skin. And then she did it. Deep and red. But she needed more. So she repeated the motion and she didn’t even bother to count anymore. Blood travelled down her skin onto the white marble of the tub like splashes of red ink on plain canvas. Some may even call it art. The metallic smell of the red liquid reached her nose, sending a shiver down her spine. It shouldn’t but it only served to excite her more. Both her inner thighs were a mess but it was not enough. She needed more. She wanted more. So that she could escape this misery. Without second thought, she used the knife on her wrist of the side that was not holding it. Blood gushed out in a steady stream from the gaping wound and she felt better almost instantly. Dizziness soon followed after and she relaxed herself against the tub. Her eyelids started to droop as sleepiness found its way to her eyes. She didn’t fight it and shut her eyes instead. With her mind finally at ease, she slipped into oblivion.


End file.
